Meet the Starks
by LilFeather
Summary: For Westeroswolf's unfilled LJ prompt: Crack AU where Ned and Cat meet their new son in law, Sandor at Riverrun! Cat loves him because he rescued Sansa and Arya but Ned still hates him. Family fun ensues.
1. Chapter 1

One fine autumn day, the Tully household received a raven bearing the seal of Sandor Clegane. To the delight of the family, it announced that he, Arya, and Sansa were to arrive at the castle in a fortnight.

Robb dispatched his best riders from the Stark host, who confirmed sightings of them along the route. With full hearts, Ned and Catelyn eagerly made ready to receive their long lost daughters and goodson.

"Where could they be?" Ned Stark grumbled irritably, glancing out the window for the fifth time in a quarter hour. "It cannot possibly take so long to ferry a boat here."

"The raven's message said they would arrive today, Ned," Lady Catelyn sat in the expansive bay window seat. "And Sansa said Sandor was bringing his horse we must allow for that."

"An ill-tempered beast if ever I saw one," Ned wrinkled his nose.

"Do you speak of your goodson or his horse?" Edmure teased.

"Both."

"Ned, please." Turning to her brother, Catelyn asked, "Edmure, you alerted the men in the tower of the Water Gate to admit them, did you not?"

"Yes, of course I did," Edmure sighed, clearly annoyed. He handed Ned a glass of wine. "They will raise the portcullis for Sansa and Clegane, no need to worry on that score. Sister, you must calm yourself."

"I cannot help it-I am beside myself! To think that tonight we will have both girls back under our roof, Ned-it is too wonderful!"

"Aye, that it is," Ned looked up from polishing Ice and smiled. "I expect Arya will be the same, but our sweet little Sansa comes to us a bride, Cat. It seems like only yesterday I took her to the moors to pick wildflowers."

"I remember," Cat softly replied. "She looked so tiny holding on to your hand, her bright hair aflame in the afternoon sun. Sansa was always such a lady, obedient and eager to please. We can thank the gods that even in that viper's pit they call the Red Keep that our girl found love-and with a brave man who cares enough to return her to us."

"That remains to be seen," Ned's warm expression turned taciturn. "Brave? No, more like self-serving. I just hope Sandor Clegane has the decency not to wear that horrible Lannister armor to Riverrun."

"Oh, Ned," Catelyn shook her head. "Is it self-serving to return our daughters to us? How can you even think such a thing?"

"Because I know the man. He is looking for coin; he will name his price once he secures guest right, mark my words."

"Do you really think he would do something like that after he betrayed the Lannisters?"

"I do; if it meant safer passage for them," Ned paced the room. "Not one in ten ruffians would be willing to tussle with a man his size and fearsome appearance, especially one wearing the cloak of the Kingsguard. I just hope he thinks of the trouble it will cause Sansa and Arya should he wear it within the camp."

"Ned, you must try to put a little faith in the man," Catelyn sat down beside him and covered his hand with her own. "His bravery warrents that much at least. I agree he is not the man I would have chosen for our sweet girl, but just look at what he has done for her! He has given up everything for Sansa-riches, distinction, an honorable place at the Red Keep serving the king. Despite the odds, it seems Sandor must have some sense of honor."

"Hmph," Ned interrupted.

"…or he would have never done such for Sansa," Catelyn ignored his comment and sat beside him. "Please, try to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Hmph," he muttered again, furiously polishing his blade.

"Please if not for me, then for Sansa."

Sighing, Ned slumped down beside her and stared out at the main road leading into Riverrun. "You know I will, wife, but it is a difficult thing you ask of me. I've never trusted any Clegane, though he's not so bad as his brother. Sandor has a reputation for speaking the truth but that's the extent of good I'm willing to concede to the man."

"Clegane cannot be so very bad, dearest, or Sansa would not have fallen in love with him."

"He killed the butcher's boy," Ned insisted. "He rode him down."

"So you have told me many a time, and I am sorry for the poor child. But he also betrayed the Lannisters for our sweet Sansa, and he is returning her to us! Surely that earns him some of your goodwill."

"Aye."

"Besides, husband, Sansa says in her raven that she loves him."

Gritting his teeth, Ned abruptly stood up. "He probably wrote that part himself."

"It was in her handwriting, dearest."

"Sansa is a child," Ned sharply turned to her. "She only thinks she loves him because he rescued her like one of those knights out of one of the fairy stories you used to read to her. Once she is among her family, her feelings will wane."

"Such is the fickle way of women," Brynden laughed. "That is why I am a bachelor."

"For shame, Ned!" Catelyn hissed angrily. "Do you think so little of your own daughter? Do you honestly believe Sansa capable of easily throwing over her own husband? To hear you speak, you would think she was Cersei."

Grudgingly he shook his head. "No, forgive my thoughtless words; we raised her better than that. Sansa is a good, obedient, devoted child. It's just-"

"It is just that she is your little girl and you cannot bear to recognize that she is a married woman." Catelyn settled beside him and caressed his cheek. "It is only natural; it was the same with my father, you recall."

"Your father was most stubborn."

Catelyn raised her brows but remained silent. Ned laughed self-consciously at her.

"That is the greatest understatement ever spoken in the Great Hall, Ned," the Blackfish chimed in before downing the last of his wine. "You must face reality: Sansa no longer the little girl who held your finger and picked wildflowers. She is a woman flowered, wedded and bedded."

A deep guttural groan emanated from Ned's throat, followed by hearty laughter from Brynden Tully.

"Face it, Ned, you are no longer the main man in her life," the Blackfish crowed. "Clegane holds that place now."

"Don't I know it," Ned muttered. "My sweet little lemoncake is a married woman, and now belongs to a Clegane, no less."

"You men! You must stop this at once!" Catelyn scolded them. "Sansa loves you, Ned, and nothing will change that!"

The grating metal of the rising portcullis turned their attention toward the entranceway in the lower bailey. "Hush, now, the both of you. Sansa and Sandor will be in directly," Catelyn eagerly smoothed down the front of her gown. "Now, listen to me carefully: I want the three of you to treat her with the dignity and respect you would afford any other married woman. Promise me."

"Of course, Kitty Cat, no need to mother hen us," the Blackfish grinned, tweaking Catelyn's curls. "Come Ned, let's go meet your goodson. I hear he is quite ugly; is it so?"

"He is not so very bad," Catelyn frowned at them, nervously adjusting her hair. "He is merely scarred; the sound side of his face is most becoming, I recall. He has the look of the north, and is very muscular and imposing."

Both men turned, staring with their mouths agape at Catelyn, when the house steward announced, "Lady Arya Stark of House Stark, accompanied by Ser Sandor and Lady Sansa Clegane, of House Clegane to see you, my lords and lady."

"I'm no ser, you buggering bastard," Sandor Clegane growled, the fierce man warily surveying the interior with an air of menace. Huge, dark and commanding, Sansa's husband seemed to take up the entire entryway as he stepped inside the Great Hall. He was even bigger than Catelyn remembered and yet he held Sansa's arm with uncommon tenderness that immediately touched her heart.

The servants eagerly scuttled away from him as he led Sansa into the room. After looking the family over, he muttered, "Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn; I have brought your daughters, and another token of goodwill for your son."

"Mother! Father!" Sansa laughed, clasping her hands. Catelyn noticed that she looked as though she would very much like to run to them. Ever the lady, Sansa maintained her dignity, much to her mother's pleasure, and allowed her husband to lead her to the Tully head table.

Unable to contain herself and untroubled by such formality, Arya ran in front of her sister and goodbrother, tearfully leaping into her waiting father's arms. Catelyn took her turn kissing and holding her youngest girl before turning her attention to her oldest.

"Sansa, dearest, it is so good to have you home!" She tearfully pulled Sansa into a tight embrace. After several long moments of hugging and crying, Catelyn moved her daughter at arms-length, carefully taking in her lovely yellow brocade gown and black sash. "You are looking so well, my sweet," She affectionately touched her cheeks. "So happy and beautiful you are! Ned, just look at the roses in her cheeks! Married life certainly agrees with you, dearest."

"Yes, it certainly does, Mother," Sansa blushingly took her husband by the hand.

Ned tipped his head toward her and rolled his eyes. Catelyn glared at him.

Seemingly unaware of her father's disgust, Sansa smiled brilliantly as she took each of her parents by the hand. "Mother, Father, it is my pleasure to introduce your goodson, Sandor Clegane."


	2. Chapter 2

Sandor stood impassively, his dark grey eyes glittering defiantly as he looked over Ned. A smirk twitched the burned side of his mouth as he then cast his eyes toward Lady Catelyn, the harsh man's expression softening somewhat as he did so. "Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn," he finally spoke, dipping his head slightly. "We've met before, I recall."

Sandor awkwardly offered her his hand, and Sansa nodded approvingly. _She must have coached him on his manners,_ Catelyn thought, remembering the way she did the same with Ned when they were first married.

Standing before the fearsome Hound, she took the opportunity to look over her goodson carefully. True to her prediction, he was not wearing the armor or cloak of the Kingsguard; he was dressed in all black and wearing light armor. When he spoke, his voice rasped harshly, sounding like steel gliding along a whetstone.

Even without heavy armor, Sandor Clegane was by far one of the largest men she had ever seen, and one of the most intimidating as well. Finally Catelyn said, "Yes, how good of you to remember. You were a guest of King Robert at our family seat." She cast a nervous glance at Ned, who neither said a word nor moved to shake his hand.

"Guest, you say?" Sandor snorted derisively, and then made a harsh sound that might have been a laugh. "I had no say in the matter. I was Joff's dog; it was my duty to look after the boy."

"Please, you must not say such about yourself," Sansa softly whispered, turning to face her husband. "You were never his, and far too good to be in service to the Lannisters." She then squeezed his arm softly. "You belong to me now."

Both Ned and Catelyn were taken aback. Arya only rolled her eyes. "She's like this _all the time_, Mother. It was all I could do not to throw up the entire way here."

Brynden laughed and presented him a tankard of Dornish sour and bread dipped in salt, the tradition offering for guest rights. "Since you are family, this is mere formality, a gesture of goodwill."

Smiling, Sansa generously dipped the bread in the salt and delicately placed it in his mouth. When she pulled her fingers away, Sandor carefully licked the salt from each of them, all the while heatedly staring into her eyes.

Coloring deeply, Sansa laughed softly, and Sandor's mouth twitched into a small smile in return, the fierce man clearly enjoying her reaction. Seemingly remembering they were not alone, Sandor frowned suddenly, straightened up and surveyed the family thoughtfully as he ate, finishing by swallowing the entire tankard of wine.

"And for you, my dear," the Blackfish offered Sansa a glass of Arbor gold along with the bread and salt.

"Thank you, Uncle." Sansa drew a nervous breath as she ate and then took several sips of the sweet wine, carefully averting her eyes from her scandalized parents. Seeming to sense her discomfort, Sandor drew his large hand around her waist and pulled her back flush against his chest.

Catelyn stood agape, afraid to look at Ned, while Brynden chuckled heartily. "It seems the Hound has a new mistress, one who has tamed him most soundly."

"Aye, so I have," Sandor rasped low. Never taking his eyes from hers, he languidly wiped the salt crystals from Sansa's mouth and then licked them off his fingers with a devilish grin. "A proper lady she is, too."

Blushing deeply, Sansa shyly lowered her eyes. "Please, do forgive us, Uncle Brynden; we mean no disrespect."

"Seven hells, I'm going to be sick," Arya animatedly gagged, bringing a fit of laughter to both of her uncles. Rolling her eyes, she then eagerly downed the offering her uncle made to her while watching her family closely, alternating between staring at her parents and sister. "I'm starved. Will dinner be served soon?"

"Yes, lass," Edmure nodded. "As soon as your kingly brother arrives."

"Arya, ladies do not make such noises, neither do they ask when meals will be served or use the tongue of men," Catelyn scolded angrily. "It is only natural for Sansa to be thus; this is the way of all newlyweds, as you will see for yourself one day."

"No way, that's not me," Arya shook her head with a frown.

Shyly Sansa stepped forward with two cloth bound packages wrapped in the colors of House Tully for each of her uncles. "For you, Uncles, for all you have done for the family. I know it is customary for the husband to give them but I asked that Sandor allow me this."

"We do not stand on ceremony here, my dear," The Blackfish grinned as he unwrapped his bundle to reveal a fine dragonbone knife. "It is beautiful, dearest Sansa," Brynden held it up to the light for closer inspection. "Many thanks to the both of you, Cleganes."

"You are most welcome." Sansa beamed and squeezed Sandor's arm. Tersely, he grunted and then nodded.

Edmure opened his package with a boyish grin, delighted by the fine bow inside. "Magnificent, dear niece, and the wood is most unusual."

"It is from the Summer Isles, Uncle Edmure, made of the finest golden wood to be found."

The Blackfish gestured to the sitting area. "Do sit down everyone. Robb should be along shortly."

"If you will excuse me, I will see that your rooms are ready, Sansa, Sandor." Edmure bowed and turned to leave.

"Thank you."

Everyone stared at each other in silence until Sansa said, "Mother, Father, it is so good to see you! I cannot tell you how relieved I am to be with you again. Sandor managed to get me out of King's Landing just before the battle of Blackwater."

"Indeed he did," Ned looked over his goodson suspiciously, not even bothering to hide his open distaste for the man. "Most convenient, I would say, for Cleagane."

Sandor's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that a man in your position to make off with two highborn girls when he should be preparing to defend his king-it can hardly be called a stroke of luck that you got them. How long had you set your designs on my daughter before you finally made your move?"

"Ned!" Cateyln hissed under her breath.

"Fuck Joffrey," Sandor rasped menacingly. "King or no, the boy meant nothing to me. Truth is, your daughters were lucky I was the one who took them."

"They certainly are," Catelyn ignored his swearing and smiled tightly while nudging Ned's thigh under the table. "And we are most grateful."

"Plenty of men worse than me could have taken your daughters," Sandor snarled, leaning forward to stare Ned in the eye. "The capital is full of men who like to beat little girls, men who like to rape them. Saved Sansa from some of them."

"It is true, Father," Sansa took his hand. "Lord Tyrion begged Joffrey but he would not send help, and Sandor defied him to rescue me."

"Good gods," Catelyn whispered, making the sign of the Seven in front of her breast. "We are most indebted to you."

"Yes we are indeed. You were counting on our gratitude, weren't you?" When Sandor remained silent, Ned explained, "You felt free to take my oldest as your reward."

"I didn't do it for you, or any reward. I did it for the little bird." Scowling at Ned, he hissed, "You're just chuffed because some bloody knight didn't do the job for you-a dog did. Both you and your son left your precious daughters among the lions-you should be glad it was me and not one of those knights, believe that."

"We had no choice and you know it."

Glaring at Ned, Sandor snorted derisively and spat on the ground.

"Robb may yet annul your marriage," Ned furiously growled out while leaping to his feet. "Then we will see what you truly want! Coin, isn't that right, and plenty of it!"

"Bugger that, Sansa's mine," Sandor snarled, standing in such haste that he knocked his chair over. "I'll not give her up for any reason, you best believe!"

"Ned, stop this, please," Catelyn took hold of his arm and urged him to sit down.

Sansa's eyes filled with tears, leading Sandor to grudgingly follow suit. To Ned and Catelyn's surprise, he then turned to his wife, took out a handkerchief, and gently daubed her cheeks, after which he kissed her lightly and murmured a few words they could not hear.

Heaving an annoyed sigh, Ned warily surveyed the man. "Why _did_ you marry her, Clegane? A man such as you gives no thought to the gods or my daughter's reputation. You could have gotten what you wanted by other means."

"I wouldn't put on such honorable airs, Stark; you allowed Robert to match her to his little shit of a son who would have taken your head had you stuck around." Sandor roared out a laugh, cold and empty, sending a shiver through Catelyn.

The Hound was furious, that much was clear, but Sandor would not even spare a glance at Ned; instead his hard gray eyes met hers as he spoke. "Your Sansa deserves a husband who truly wants her, not just her claim." Sandor gritted his teeth, the jaw muscles in his neck tensing with effort to restrain his emotions. "I wed her because I love her. I'll be good to her, Lady Stark, I swear it on every one of your fucking gods, old and new."

"And what of Sansa? I would hear her words," Ned insisted, turning to his daughter. "You are a good obedient girl; no doubt you wed him out of a sense of duty."

"Oh, no, Father, please, you must believe me," Sansa began, taking both her father and husband by the hand. "I married Sandor because I love him, not because I felt I owed him."

"Yeah, as hard as it is to believe, Sissy actually wanted to marry the ugly mutt." Arya shivered exaggeratedly. "Gods know why. Can we be done with this so we can eat now?"

"Arya that is enough," Catelyn firmly intoned with a sharp glare.

Scolded, Arya slunk back in her chair with a frown.

"Mother, Father, I am not ignorant of my duty to the family," Sansa nervously began. "I feared you and Robb would be disappointed. But I truly love Sandor and no matter what Robb decides, I will have no other." Carefully she smoothed down her skirts. "After all Sandor has done for Arya and I, I hope you will accept him as a true son."

"Of course we will, dearest!" Catelyn wrapped her arms around Sansa. "Ned, please, Sandor has dealt with our daughters in a most honorable way. The gods have answered my prayers by means of him! Can we not just enjoy the fact that our family is reunited and let this rest for the evening?"

The two leaved doors rumbled open, admitting Robb, Jeyne, and a small council of men. Rising from her seat, Sansa curtseyed low, while Sandor grudgingly laid his sword at the young king's feet.

"Sandor Clegane, Sansa," Robb curtly nodded. "How is it that the king's dog turns on his master to bring my sisters home?"

"With all due respect," Sandor spat out, "Someone had to do it. You and your father both left Sansa in the lion's den. The wolf girl in the company of Yoren and the men headed for the Wall-a band of criminals."

"So you found honor, is that the way of it? Robb challenged him, moving closer to Sandor. "You are the Hound, a Clegane through and through. Father said you killed the butcher's boy, Arya's friend; why should we believe you have changed?"

"Robb, that was Joffrey's fault," Arya interrupted. "The Hound did what the prince told him, but now he's part of our pack. Can we eat now?"

"No," Robb shouted angrily. Ned sighed deeply. "Lass, your brother is your king now and you must speak to him as such. Besides, there's more to consider than the matter of your friend; he has committed many wrongs in service to the king."

Smirking, Sandor shook his head. "You killed Sansa's wolf because the king told you to; how is it different?" Leaning forward, Sandor brought his face mere inches from Robb. "I'll tell you how: I may have been a butcher but I don't lie about what I am."

"Enough!" Ned bellowed, bringing both Sansa and Catelyn to their feet. "I'll not stand for this."

"Wait Father, Robb, just wait a moment, please! Sandor saved another one of my friends, and he brought him here. Maybe that may make you like him better," Arya hurriedly left the room. When she returned, she led by the hand a tall, muscular youth. Catelyn recalled Ned said he was one of Robert's bastard sons, a young blacksmith named Gendry. "Remember Gendry, Father?"

The young man nervously fidgeted with the edge of his tunic. "Lord Stark, my lady," he bowed awkwardly. "You do me a great honor. Do you remember talking to me in the forge?"

"Aye, I do indeed," Ned gestured for him to take a seat. "What brings you here, lad?"

"The Hound said it was too dangerous for me to stay in King's Landing and that you still have important business with me-both you and your son."

Ned and Robb exchanged glances.

"I've known all along that the boy is King Robert's true son and heir, not Joffrey," Sandor explained. Turning to Robb, he added, "You will need him in dealing with Stannis, my king."

Stunned, Robb sank into the chair beside his father. "Sansa," he said finally, "You and the women take your leave; we men need to have us a talk."

"You best not discuss this in front of Clegane," the Greatjon warned. "Not until we can be certain he can be trusted."

Sansa rose once more. "I assure you that no one can be trusted more than my husband, Lord Umber." Curtseying once more to Robb, she smiled. "There is a pressing matter that requires Sandor's attention, my king. With your permission, we will attend our rooms for the duration."

Robb waved his hand dismissively, "Go on, then. We will speak more at the evening meal."


	3. Chapter 3

During their travels, Sansa managed to send several ravens to Riverrun, hoping to smooth the way for their arrival in the eyes of her family. Knowing her father and brother would not easily be swayed, she went to great lengths to gain her mother's approval, elaborately describing the various acts of bravery her new husband performed on her and Arya's behalf.

Once reunited with her parents, Sansa knew all too well that her family would require far more intimate details of what led to their highborn daughter willingly marrying the Hound. Predictably, her mother wasted no time making inquiries as soon as they were dismissed from the Great Hall.

"We have been most eager to hear how you and Sandor Clegane came to realize your feelings for each other," Catelyn looped her arm through Sansa's with a smile.

"Of course Mother; I will tell it with pleasure." Sansa stiffened slightly and watched her uncle purse his lips.

"Your husband is most intimidating, Sansa," Jeyne whispered in her ear. "And very muscular as well; such a man is well worth having, is that not so?"

Catelyn frowned at her gooddaughter. "It is true that Sandor is most impressive but I do not think this is appropriate conversation for Arya's ears."

"Oh, Mother," Arya rolled her eyes. "If only you knew half of what I've done, you would faint dead away."

Catelyn gaped at her until Edmure interrupted them. "This way to the family rooms."

Behind them, Sandor snickered contemptuously. "So Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, now King Regent requires an explanation as to how his wolf daughter came to lie down with a dog. Asked his wife to get the details, is that the way of it?"

Exasperated, Edmure turned to face him. "Clegane, a man such as you must realize it is rather extraordinary that a young woman such as Sansa would willingly take a Lannister sworn shield as her husband. Some explanation is hardly unwarranted."

"Edmure, please," Lady Catelyn began. "It is only natural for Sandor to feel slighted after my husband and son's inquiries."

Swallowing hard, Jeyne nervously glanced at Sansa, who swiftly moved in between her uncle and husband. What little courtesy Sandor had left would not be wasted on the Tully side of her family, even if they were sheltering in their seat. Nervously Sansa rested her hand on Sandor's chest as she silently implored him to be still.

His infuriated expression softened as he returned her gaze. "Aye, true enough, that."

"Uncle, please, if you will forgive us, we are most tired; perhaps this conversation can wait until we are refreshed?"

Edmure laughed knowingly. "Of course, my dear." Not sparing Sandor another glance, he turned and continued guiding them through the castle.

In truth, Sansa was not certain how to explain the way she and Sandor came to wed. As Joffrey's sworn shield, Sandor was never far from her from the moment she arrived in King's Landing.

"Well, Mother, it was a matter of her survival that I learn to adapt in the Red Keep," she began uncertainly. "Sandor understood the roles we both were meant to play in the den of lions and took it upon himself to educate me in his own unique way, and thus we got to know it other quite well."

"I see," her mother replied, though Sansa was sure she most certainly did not. "And how did you come to discover your mutual affection?"

"Pray forgive me, Mother, but I would prefer not to speak of such intimacies."

"Of course, Sansa."

Blushing, she lowered her eyes as the memory of that day flooded her mind. They walked on in silence with Sansa now lost in thought.

Joffrey had her stripped and severely beaten for her brother's victories. After Tyrion interceded, Sandor carried her back to her quarters with her gown in tatters and her body bruised and bloodied.

After he settled her on the bed, Sandor stood watching her closely. "Remember what I told you about Gregor, do you?" He asked quietly, shifting uncomfortably on her bed.

"Y-yes," Sansa struggled to control her breathing. "I have never told anyone, I swear it."

The Hound laughed then, the sound as empty and cold as his eyes. "I know, little bird." Leaning in, Sandor handed her a small jar. "When I heard of your kingly brother's victories, I knew that little shit would make you bleed for it. This is the same maester's compound my father had made for my burns."

Deeply touched, Sansa managed a small smile despite the pain. "Thank you, Sandor; how very thoughtful." It was the first time she used his given name, and she saw him tremble as her soft voice formed the sound.

Sandor shrugged. "It did me no good, but it might ease the pain some."

"I am certain it would but unfortunately I will not be able to use it."

Glaring at her, he frowned.

"I cannot reach my lashings," she explained, "and the maids are sworn not to help me under punishment of treason."

Sandor chewed his lip for a moment, watching as she nervously fidgeted with the jar.

"Perhaps if you would not mind, you could apply it," Sansa finally whispered, blushing deeply while averting her eyes.

"Not a very appropriate request from a lady, now is it?" Sandor finally teased; and for once there was no mockery in his tone, only sad resignation.

Sansa's eyes misted over, her face falling into a mirror of his expression. "Yes, I admit that is true, but you have already seen far more of me than is appropriate; is that not so?"

"Aye that it is, lass." Before she knew what was happening, Sandor was easing the torn gown from her shoulders.

Once more Sansa blushed at the memory. No, there was absolutely no way that she would tell her mother that she initiated their intimacies by asking the Hound to undress her and tend her wounds. Glancing around her, she saw that neither Jeyne, Arya or her mother seemed aware of her embarrassment, and for that Sansa was grateful.

Sandor was surprisingly gentle, even tender, as he treated her wounds, bringing a flood of emotions to Sansa's heart and a rush of pleasure throughout her body. He seemed moved by the experience as well, though he never said a word. When Sandor finished applying the salve, he carefully pulled her gown over her shoulders.

"There, lass, mayhap you'll have better luck with the treatment than I."

"Thank you. When you told me the story of your scars," Sansa tentatively cupped the scarred side of his face, "I never dreamed you would assist in healing my own wounds. I am very grateful."

The muscles in his jaw clenched beneath her fingers. "And I never dreamed the pretty bird would allow a scarred dog to tend her feathers." Abruptly he then left the room.

From that day on, the Hound would come to her late in the evening, awkwardly sitting on her bed while rubbing the salve to her bare skin. He continued even after she was certain the injuries had healed sufficiently to no longer warrant his attentions but Sansa did not have the heart to mention it to him.

Deep down Sansa knew it was inappropriate to allow their meetings to continue, but in the den of the lions, somehow propriety no longer mattered. She grew to long for his touch, for Sandor's calloused hands gliding over her skin deeply moved her, and her heart as well as her body responded to his tender ministrations.

Indeed, the realization that her feelings for him were growing ever more romantic came as quite a shock to her. Though he never said much, it even seemed to Sansa that he shared her feelings. One night after Sandor finished, he confirmed her thoughts by gently drawing her into his arms.

They held each other in silence, allowing their tender embrace to speak for them. Sansa rested her hand on his cheek while Sandor leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, sighing deeply as he wrapped her close to him. The rise and fall of Sandor's muscular chest against her cheek, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in her ears while surrounded in his strong yet tender embrace healed her heart and soothed her nerves.

From that night on, Sandor would hold her after treating her scars, and many times Sansa fell asleep in his arms. Ever vigilant, Sandor always left before the maid arrived. Upon awakening, Sansa never failed to be disappointed by his absence, though she knew it would hardly be appropriate for the king's sworn shield to be seen spending the night in the private quarters of his betrothed.

Despite knowing that he detested chivalry, Sansa felt the need to express her growing affection in a tangible manner. Lovingly she made him a knight's favor, embroidering a small bird sitting on the shoulder of a huge black hound on a silk yellow sash. One evening after Sandor tended her scars, Sansa presented it to him.

"I know you detest knights, but I could not think of another appropriate gift for you," Sansa smiled shyly as she placed it in his hands. "I hope you will accept it as a symbol of my gratitude; I truly appreciate all you have done for me."

"Gratitude?" Sandor rasped, chuckling low. "Is that what you feel?"

_He hates liars._ "No," Sansa heard herself say before she could check her tongue. "I also mean it a symbol of my deep affection for you."

Sandor's head snapped up to meet her eyes, his dark gaze glittering with a new, warm feeling Sansa had never before seen in the man.

"I hesitated to say it just now," she wrung her hands, "because I cannot bear for you to mock my feelings for you."

"Pretty little bird," he pulled her close to him and buried his face into her neck. Sansa felt her skin flush hot clear down to her chest and brazenly she nuzzled closer to him. "You're not meant for the likes of me, lass; believe that."

"Please, do not tell me what I should feel, or for whom I should feel it." Sansa turned to face him, daringly running her hands along the edge of his tunic. Staring wide-eyed at her, Sandor drew in a sharp breath but did not move away.

Smiling softly, Sansa felt her cheeks redden. Edmure cleared his throat, startling her from her contemplations. Anxiously she looked up to see her mother, Jeyne and Arya watching her intently.

"Forgive me, Mother; I was lost in memories there for a bit. It is hard to explain; so much that has happened…it is all quite overwhelming..."

Arya reached over and put her arm around Sansa's waist. "I know Sissy; I know. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it; isn't it, Mother?"

After their experiences in King's Landing and abroad, Sansa and Arya shared a deep, unspoken understanding. Affectionately Sansa pulled her little sister against her breast and squeezed her tightly as her eyes filled with tears.

Lady Catelyn rested her arms around both girls. "We need not talk of it if it upsets you, Sansa. We have plenty of time."

"Thank you, Mother."

The arrival of a large contingency of Stark soldiers in the main hallway caused Sansa to nervously move closer to Sandor, looping her arm through his.

"You have nothing to fear from them, wife," he growled low as he covered her hand with his, patting her softly. Sansa smiled at Sandor, his words recalling the first two vows he made to her. Impulsively she leaned up and kissed his cheek, and Sandor gently caressed her in return, a small twinkle lighting up his normally stormy gray eyes as he did so.

His expression reminded her of the day Sansa realized she wanted more than to just express her love in words; she wanted to show him with her body as well. After she admitted her feelings for him, they stared into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity.

"Sandor, you said that one day I would be glad of the hateful things you would do someday," Sansa finally broke the silence. "Maybe I wish to be glad that I gave my maiden's gift to you."

The fierce man stared at her silently, his eyes softening while his mouth worked as though he were trying to form a protest.

Flushed, Sansa spoke up once more. "When I become queen, what would make me most glad is to have one night of love, one moment of happiness with you to look back upon."

The burned side of his face twitched sharply as he considered her words. "If we do this, the king will know you did not come to him a maid on your wedded night."

"No, he will not," she whispered. "His enjoyment comes from pain, not the goings-on of the marriage bed. Besides, I will not survive long enough for him to discover otherwise, and we both know it. Allow me this, Sandor, please."

Cupping the burned side of his face, Sansa lifted her lips to his, and when their eyes met, the primal hunger with which Sandor regarded her took her breath away. He traced the smooth curve of her cheek with his fingers before his mouth descended upon her, covering her lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

When finally he moved away, Sandor silently led to her by the hand to the bed and lay down beside her. "You need not fear that little shit of a king. No one will hurt you again little bird or I'll kill them; I swear it."

Her heart leapt at his words, and ignoring the teachings of her septa for perhaps the first time in her life, Sansa did not pull away when he carefully unlaced her gown and laid her back on the bed. She did not pull away when his hands roamed her skin, tenderly caressing her most intimate places. With gentleness Sansa did not know Sandor possessed, he carefully kissed and loved each part of her body until a fine sheen of sweat covered her body, until she wept with pleasure, until finally she sang the song he so often wanted from her.

As the night went on, Sandor took her with a frenzied blend of need and lust, and Sansa loved it. Afterward, he did not immediately get up and dress as she expected; instead Sandor clung to her, holding her close to his chest as he stroked the length of her hair. Sansa sensed he was struggling to find his words, and so she remained quiet, tracing small circles through the hair on his chest as she waited.

"You are mine now, little bird, and I'll not give you up." She finally heard him rasp, his voice choked with ill suppressed emotion. After regaining control of himself, Sandor continued, "I'm going, north might be, could be. I could take you with me."

His words came out so softly that Sansa thought for a moment she misheard him. _Going? Where is he going?_ Rising up, she whispered, "What did you say?"

"I'll not let you stay here another night. I'll keep you safe. Do you want to go home?" Sandor's eyes searched her face eagerly, the man desperately cleaving to hope as he awaited her answer.

"I want to be with _you_," Sansa leaned up and tenderly kissed him, "wherever you go."

Incredulous, Sandor tipped her face up to his. "What are you saying? You would stay with me even if I didn't take you to Winterfell?"

She nodded.

Sandor's eyes narrowed incredulously. "Bloody hells, you mean it; the truth is in your eyes."

"I do mean it." Sansa caressed his cheek while holding his gaze, willing him to see the love she felt in her heart for him. "I'll not give you up, either. I have fallen in love with you, Sandor; I wish never to be parted from you."

Sandor made a choked sound as he buried his face in her hair, clinging to her with all his might. He made love to her again, holding her gaze as he did so. Later that same night, Sandor stole her out of the castle with surprising ease.

They said their vows in front of the heart tree in the godswood of the Red Keep, forever binding themselves to each other in the sight of the gods and men. Two months later, they found Arya hiding among a group of 20 recruits for the Night's Watch and Sandor convinced Yoren to allow him to take her to Riverrun. _A hound will die for you but never lie to you._ True to his word, Sandor did not allow Joffrey to hurt her ever again. He kept her safe and killed any man who tried to hurt her. More than that, Sandor reunited her with her family.

Sansa was stirred to the present when Edmure led them through two heavily leaved doors. Smiling, her mother took her by the hand and guided her into a large room filled with tapestries embroidered with the bounties of the Riverlands, a large river rock fireplace and huge bathing tub.

Moving away from Sandor, she smiled politely. "Thank you uncle, this is a lovely room. Sandor and I are most grateful for your hospitality."

"Think nothing of it, Sansa," he smiled amiably. "I doubt the meeting between your father and brother will be a short one. What say I send up your dinner directly?"

Sansa was grateful that Edmure, her mother and Jeyne all were seemingly oblivious to the lustful gaze Sandor was casting over her. "That would be most welcome, Uncle; thank you."

"Oh, can me and Gendry have our dinner too?" Arya bounced on the balls of her feet impatiently

Catelyn admonished her immediately. "Arya, it is correct to say, 'May Gendry and I have our dinner served as well?'"

Arya rolled her eyes. "Uncle knows what I mean, Mother."

Laughing, Edmure nodded. "Of course, Arya."

"You have been through a most trying ordeal, Sansa. Please, try to get some rest. We will bid you goodnight." Lady Catelyn kissed her on both cheeks, and Arya followed suit.

Finding herself alone with her husband for the first time in three moons thrilled Sansa, and as soon as he barred the door she flew into his arms. Smiling shyly, she led him toward the bay windows and stared out at the deep green water churning below. "Sandor, look at the water below-it is as green as the foliage! The view here is so very beautiful."

"Aye that it is," he rasped into her ear.

The feel of his warm breath caressing her neck sent a familiar shiver of anticipation through her body. Sansa leaned into his embrace. "At last we are alone!"

Sandor nuzzled into her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Tell me about the pressing matter that needs my attention, little bird."

Shyly Sansa traced his forearm with her finger. "It is I, my love, who needs your attention." Drawing his head down to her lips, she shyly whispered, "Let us lie down for a bit, shall we?"

Startled by her boldness, Sandor rasped out a harsh laugh and carried her to the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Readily Sandor stripped off his clothing, eying Sansa hungrily as he did so. Amused, Sansa drank in his muscular physique toned from years of training and battle, blushing all the while. Though the sight was no longer new to her, still she occasionally felt nervous and shy with her fierce, daunting husband. Not unlike his sigil, Sandor was ferocious and menacing with others; yet with her the man was tender, careful, and almost reverent.

Sandor was so much more than people realized, and Sansa wished there was some way to make her father aware of the tamer side of her husband. The meeting could hardly have gone worse in her view, yet for all that her father and Sandor said to each other in the exchange, Sansa still held on to hope that they could at least come to a mutual respect one day. As for what Robb would do, Sansa could not guess; as king he would be eager to establish his authority over the former Lannister sworn shield. Sandor could hardly be counted on to put up with such nonsense.

Resolutely she pushed the negative thoughts out of her mind as she watched him undress. When he was as naked as his nameday, Sandor moved beside her and gently lifted her out of her gown and shift. "Gods but I've missed this," he breathed against her neck.

"As have I, dearest." Turning, Sansa wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. "Make love to me, husband," she whispered into his ear as he kissed along her collarbone.

"With pleasure, wife," Sandor growled against her skin, kissing his way down to her belly. Hungrily he nibbled at the soft flesh on her inner thighs before tearing the ribbons of her smallclothes loose with his teeth.

"Oh!" Sansa gasped loudly at the feel of his hot tongue licking the length of her slit. "Sandor, we haven't bathed yet…I, oh…" her words quickly dissolved into moans, leading Sandor to laugh devilishly to her.

"Bugger that, I want a taste of my sweet wife." After settling between her thighs, Sandor set about licking and suckling her most intimate places with such fervency Sansa felt she was indeed being devoured by a ravenous dog. Fisting the sheets beneath her, Sansa moaned loudly, for the intense pleasure he brought to her chased all reasonable thought from her mind, and Sansa's whole world soon centered solely on the feel of her beloved husband.

* * *

After the Stark small council assembled, Robb stood and motioned for quiet in the hall. "As you know, Sandor Clegane has returned my sisters to us. In addition, he has brought one of King Robert's bastard sons, a young man named Gendry Waters. We must decide the best course of action and determine his intentions."

"His intentions are clear enough. He got your sister as wife, securing himself safe passage north," Roose Bolton called out. "You must annul it at once, my king, and wed her to another, more worthy man."

"Who will have her after the Hound?"

"I would respectfully ask that you consider Ramsay."

"No," Ned shook his head. "I will never consent to it. She is married lawfully in the sight of the gods and men."

Robb slowly nodded. "As you wish, Father. What of the so-called Baratheon? Clegane claims he is the rightful heir and that puts us in a perilous position."

"So says the Hound," Dacey Mormont stood up. "His word is worthless here. How do we know this boy is in fact the king's son? He could have dragged any bastard north with him if only to buy himself some time with you, my lord."

"Robert and I fostered with Jon Arryn as young men, you'll recall. I heard it on good authority in King's Landing and already met the boy. Mark my words, young Gendry is a Baratheon for true; he looks exactly like Robert at his age," Ned confirmed.

"That may be true, but there is no way we can trust the Hound, I say," the Greatjon growled. "He's served the buggering kingslayer's family for far too long. His loyalty is legendary, second only to his brutality in battle. It is unlikely that Clegane would give up a prestigious alliance with the Iron throne for a young highborn girl, if you'll forgive my saying so, Your Grace."

"I agree, Lord Umber, and yet I cannot ignore that it is an extraordinary fete Clegane has accomplished." Robb turned to Ned. "What say you, Father?"

"There could hardly be a weaker motive for the man. He cares nothing for titles or prestige as you call it. Sandor is nothing like Gregor, of that I am certain."

"But Father, you saw him kill Arya's friend."

"I saw him ride the butcher's boy down, aye, but I cannot deny that the man holds to his own code of honor-such as it is," Ned stiffened his lip. "What he did was in service to the Lannisters; Clegane is not known for cruelty outside of duty. And who of us has not done things in service to our realm of which we are not proud?"

A general murmur went up from amongst the assembly.

"It seems Arya has forgiven the Hound, oddly enough," Robb looked at Ned curiously. "What do you make of that?"

"Arya is young; she's probably tolerating him because he saved her friend."

"How do we know that bringing Sansa and Arya here is not just part of an elaborate ruse to free Jaime Lannister?"

"Sending Joffrey's sworn shield here to free the kingslayer while wedded and bedded to my daughter is a bit extreme even for the Lannisters."

The Blackfish huffed, "Aye but not unlike the Imp, I'll wager."

"We need to speak with Clegane without the girls," Ned stated firmly. "Then we'll see if we can discern his true motive. Mayhap bring in Jaime Lannister as well. I'll go fetch him at once."

"Better take your wife along, my lord," the Blackfish laughed knowingly. "Might need her to smooth the way with your daughters."

"Aye," Ned nodded gravely. "War was easier than daughters."

* * *

Sandor gasped for air, the man struggling to calm himself. "You are too beautiful, wife, I won't last like this." Suddenly Sandor rolled over on his back, carrying Sansa with him. "Get on top of me, Sansa. I want to watch you ride my cock."

Though she was a bit scandalized, Sansa wanted to gratify him, for he had patiently waited for their intimacy during the time traveling with Arya. She flushed deep red but nevertheless enthusiastically obliged him by gingerly positioning herself over his hips and slowly sheathing his manhood deep inside her, whimpering softly as she did so. "Oh, Sandor, I have so longer for this," she gasped out.

"Fuck," he panted beneath her, running his hands over her breasts and arching his hips to meet her cadence. At first Sansa was a bit unsure in her movements; Sandor loved it nonetheless and gripped her soft thighs tightly as she tentatively rolled her hips against his manhood

"Did you hear something?" Sansa whispered, suddenly stilling and cocking her head toward the solar.

"What? No, lass, you're just nervous about fucking in your family's seat is all," Sandor paused and then urged her to keep moving with his hands. "Feeling wicked, are you?"

"No…well, maybe a little bit," she moaned out, silencing him with a deep roll of her hips.

"Whatever it is can wait." Languidly Sandor and Sansa established a rhythm, their bodies moving together as one, and the couple's love cries soon filled the room. "That's it, little bird, take your pleasure. Bloody hells but you move like a goddess."

It did not take long for Sansa to reach her peak, the young woman throwing her head back and moaning out his name at the top of her voice in the most unladylike of laments. Giggling self-consciously, Sansa collapsed on top of her husband, snuggling down in his arms. Sandor hungrily kissed her, then rolled her over on her back and pumped deep inside of her several more times before crying out his own release.

* * *

"Ned, can this not wait?" Catelyn hissed in his ear as the sound of Sansa and Sandor's voices grew louder in the hallway. "They were on the road for a moon's turn with Arya and this is the first opportunity they have had to be alone. Let them have their privacy."

"How can you expect me to ignore the sound of my daughter's voice in distress?" Ned stared at her incredulously. "Cat, perhaps they are arguing."

A decidedly female voice echoed softly from the room. "Dearest, does that sound like arguing to you?"

"You do not think…they would not…it isn't even dark outside yet!"

Catelyn raised her brow at him. "Did that ever stop us?"

Sputtering, Ned shook his head. "I…we…Cat, that was war, it was a different time-"

"Yes, it was a different time. But we are at war now, husband, and they are newly wed and likely will take every opportunity to enjoy each other just as you and I did."

"Catelyn Stark, for shame that you should speak of our daughter so! She is a lady!"

Soon the unmistakable sounds of love cries reached the hallway, followed by laughter and silence.

"Yes, she is, Ned," she nuzzled into his neck. "But lady or not, this is to be expected. You should be happy your daughter is enjoying her wedded life. Now please, be discreet!"

Furious, Ned glared at Catelyn as he pounded on the solar door. "Sansa! Clegane! Open up at once!"

Abruptly the couple was pulled from their blissful state of slumber. "What in Seven hells do you want?" Sandor snarled out, pulling Sansa closer to him. "The bloody Others had better be invading the castle!"

"He will not go until we speak to him," she whispered in his ear. "Father, just a moment please," Sansa calmly called out while disentangling herself from her disgruntled husband's embrace.

"Bloody convenient timing that one has." Sandor muttered under his breath as he climbed out of bed and helped Sansa into a robe. Slipping on his leather breeches, Sandor only bothered to fasten the lower lacings, leaving the top gaping open in hopes of further offending Ned for interrupting them.

Jerking open the door, Sandor rested his arms on the doorframe and glowered at Ned. "What do you want? Is this how dinner is announced around here? Or is there a damned fire?"

Sandor loomed large in the entryway, his bare, battled hardened chest rippling as he pushed himself off the doorway. Unable to resist, Catelyn allowed her gaze to travel over his heavily muscled chest and arms, down to his deeply carved abdominals that trailed a thick line of hair from his groin down to his lacings.

Noticing he was not wearing smallclothes, Lady Catelyn gasped softly and raised her hand to her throat. Her reaction did not escape Ned; gritting his teeth, he glared at her before sharply replying, "Clegane, there is a most important matter that must be addressed at once. First, however, Lady Catelyn and I insist on seeing Sansa."

At the sound of her name, Sansa ducked underneath Sandor's arm, her lovely face flushed and her bright red curls in disarray, her appearance leaving no question as to the source of the sounds. Carefully she tucked her robe close to her, though Catelyn immediately noticed she was wearing nothing underneath it.

"Father, Mother; this is most unexpected. We thought you would be in council with Robb for the duration of the evening. I trust it is nothing serious?"

Just then Arya ran up with Gendry hot on her heels. "Arya, wait," he shouted, then immediately slowed to a stop when he saw the family in the hall.

"What's going on with you guys? We heard shouting," Arya mumbled in between bites of bread. Glancing in between Ned and Sandor, she started to laugh. "Uh, oh, looks like Father doesn't quite like his new goodson after all."

"Arya, be silent this instant!" Lady Catelyn whispered in her ear.

"Oh, gross!" Arya pointed at Sandor's breeches. "What the hell, Hound? Could you at least put on some clothes? Some of us are trying to eat!"

"Bugger off, wolf girl, I'll wear whatever the fuck I want in my own chambers."

Ned and Catelyn were incensed. "Arya, you will not-" Shrugging, Arya just laughed it off. "It is alright, Mother and Father; Sandor and I like to tease each other like this. So what's the meeting for, anyway? Must be important since you are all standing out in the hallway with Sansa in her underclothes."

"No, my dear it is only that your father needs speak with Sandor at once." Catelyn smiled nervously at Arya while casting a final appreciative glance over Sandor's physique as she did so.

"Aye, I'll bet he does, at that," Sandor sneered, leaning down closer to Ned.

"Whatever do you mean?" Sansa affected an innocent tone, regretting it instantly when Sandor interrupted her with a harsh laugh.

"I'll tell you exactly what your mother means, little bird: your honorable Father decided to knock on the door when he heard us loudly fuck-"

Arya hooted loudly as Sansa swiftly interrupted him by covering his mouth in a long kiss.

"Nice save, Sis," Arya crowed before Gendry placed his hand over her mouth.

"Lord Stark, allow me to escort Lady Arya back to her room."

Ned waved his hand dismissively as Gendry fairly carried Arya off, her laughter echoing through the hallway. Blushingly Sansa ignored her gaping parents and finally she pulled away from Sandor, gently resting her hand on his chest. "Dearest, it is quite chilly. Would you please go stoke the fire while I speak to my parents in private? I will only be a moment."

Grinning wickedly, Sandor nodded and disappeared inside the solar. Once he was out of sight, Sansa quietly said, "Sandor and I will meet you in the solar of your rooms in a quarter hour hence."

Catelyn reached for her daughter's hand. "Sansa, please forgive the intrusion, we-"

"Mother, please forgive me, but I would prefer that we will discuss it then." With that Sansa closed the door behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa irritably slammed the door, sighed deeply and rested against it, struggling to regain her composure before returning to Sandor. It would not do for him to know how angry she was, as her family's conduct had already stretched the limit of his self-control. Very little would be needed to send him over the edge, Sansa knew, and for once she could hardly blame him. They would naturally need time to adjust to the idea of her marriage but aside from her mother, so far their behavior had been appalling. After drawing a deep breath to clear her mind, Sansa softly padded her way back to the bed chamber, gasping as she entered the room.

There was Sandor, lying shamelessly amidst the furs wearing only a devilish grin. "Come back to bed, wife," he growled low, patting the space beside him. "I'm not through with you yet."

"Sandor, really," Sansa weakly scolded, failing miserably as her eyes fell to his aroused manhood. Blushing, she smiled at him as her eyes travelled over his body. "What if my family followed me inside? For shame, love."

"Haven't got any, you know that, little bird, especially where you are concerned," Sandor lifted her into his arms with a harsh laugh and unwrapped her robe. "By the gods, you are delicious."

Giggling, she snuggled into him. "As are you, husband."

"If your kin are fool enough to walk in here unannounced, they can have their look for all I care." Sandor rasped, pulling her astride his lap. His fingers languidly traced circles over the place where her hips met her thighs, drawing a deep satisfied sound from her throat.

Sansa felt him harden beneath her; halfheartedly she tried to roll away from him. "We needs get ready. I asked them to meet us in their solar in a quarter of an hour."

"Bugger that, they can wait," Sandor breathed into her ear. After settling her on top of him, he nibbled his way down from her ear to her neck to the hollow of her throat.

"Sandor," Sansa breathed out, the young wife at a loss to protest any further.

Gently he rolled her over on her back. "You're mine, lass, and I'm keeping you all to myself for just a bit longer." Before she could answer, he pressed his manhood against her slit, rubbing the length over her until they both were soaked with her arousal.

"Let me have you, wife," Sandor moaned into her ear.

"Yes, oh gods, yes," she moaned, gripping his shoulders tightly.

* * *

He never dreamed he would marry anyone, least of all the little bird. Wine and women were the only two things Sandor Clegane thought a man needed; a wife and family was never part of the equation. Truth be told, he never wanted _anyone_ before Sansa but she changed his mind soon enough. Once he had her in his bed, Sandor could not live without her, and before he knew it, he offered to make her his wife.

Hesitant though he was to wed, Sandor quickly discovered there were many things he enjoyed about married life; and making love to Sansa was by far the best advantage of all. The little bird looked so sweet lying in his bed with her skin flushed pink from their lovemaking that the man could not resist pulling her tightly against him once more.

Burying his face in her hair, Sandor murmured, "You smell as sweet as you look. Might want another taste of you."

"Sandor, you know I would love nothing more, but we must go," Sansa blushed even as she worried the sheets in her hands.

"In a bit. I need a wash, woman," his mouth twitched as he regarded her with amusement. "Or should I go as I am?"

"But-"

"But nothing. I don't need you telling me when to bathe." Sandor glowered at her.

His young wife frowned back at him for a moment before she sweetly smiled up at him. Settling back among the pillows, Sansa sighed. "Of course, love, forgive me. After so much time travelling, we both could use a bath."

* * *

When he and Sansa finally entered the Great Hall, they were greeted with a look of irritation by Robb and Ned. Nervously Jeyne glanced up at them briefly before keeping her eyes fixed on the table. The Blackfish and Edmure, however, appeared most amused while Arya busied herself sharpening her knife.

Lady Catelyn, however, stared openly at him until Sandor finally cleared his throat. It would not help his position if Lord Stark to notice his wife giving him the once over. She tried to be ladylike about it but couldn't fool Sandor. It was his body the little bird's lady mother was admiring; he caught her taking her look earlier. Women often avoided his scarred face, but Sandor had long known that his physique more than made up for it.

Ned glanced between his wife and Sandor with a stern frown. The whole situation was so bloody ridiculous Sandor could not decide whether to laugh in their faces or curse them all. Sandor looked down at Sansa, still flushed and glowing from their lovemaking and beautiful as ever. She wore a stern expression on her lovely face as he led her to her seat, the change in her demeanor sobering Sandor up.

"My king and queen," Sansa curtsied low in the same formal, distant manner she displayed in King's Landing; Sandor inwardly cringed to see her thus. "Mother, Father, uncles: thank you for agreeing to meet with us."

"What is this about?" Robb demanded. "I am in the midst of meeting with my council over this Gendry person Clegane brought here. Your husband has-"

"Mother! Father! Robb won't let Sansa talk," Arya leaned over toward her brother. "She called the meeting; it's her turn to speak. That's the rules."

Glaring at Arya, Robb started to interrupt once more before Jeyne softly laid her hand on his sleeve.

Ned side-eyed them before clearing his throat. "Please, child, we are all most eager to hear you."

"Father, brother, I wish to say that I am most disappointed in the way you have treated my husband. Sandor rescued Arya and I, kept us safe, and returned us to you," Sansa stared levelly at her father. Turning to Robb, she added coolly, "Despite your suspicions, he swore his allegiance to you. Once you get to know Sandor you will understand what an extraordinary offer that is and yet you still refuse to acknowledge him as your goodbrother. "

"Sansa, this is all just a bit too much to bear," Robb began. "With your marrying so far beneath you during wartime-"

"I understand your reluctance but to disrespect my husband is to disrespect me. How can you say it is too much for you to understand that I wed the man I love? You wed for love, brother, and yet you question my ability to do the same," Sansa shook her head sadly.

Hearing the little bird declare her love for him to her family overwhelmed the man, and Sandor's throat tightened at her words.

Sansa squeezed his hand under the table as she went on. "You intruded on our bedchamber when courtesy requires that you respected our privacy. If you are unwilling or unable to treat us with respect as a wedded couple, we will leave at once."

Astounded, Sandor snapped his head toward his wife. "Little bird, you want me to take you away from here?"

"Yes," her voice quivered. "I will not stay one night where we are both unwelcome."

She was serious, he could see it in her eyes; Sandor would not make her stay where she did not wish. "I'll ready our things at once."

"No, Sansa, Sandor, please!" Catelyn stood up. "Ned, Robb, you must put an end to this foolishness. Sansa just returned to us, how can you upset her so that she would rather leave that put up with the both of you?"

"We have done nothing more than is required, Mother. Sansa will have to learn that things have changed and adjust accordingly."

"Yes, things_ have_ changed, brother. You are king and I am a wedded woman. There must be consideration on both sides. I have made up my mind."

"Sansa, Sandor, we ought not to have intruded on your bedding chamber," Ned offered awkwardly. "Do forgive us."

Sandor nodded tersely, though he could see Sansa was not appeased.

The Blackfish stood up and placed his hand on Catelyn's shoulder. "Sandor, Sansa, this is our family seat. You are welcome to stay and there will be no further interferences on the part of the Stark side of the family, of that I am certain."

"Yes, Sansa, please say you will stay," Catelyn added.

Sansa shook her head. "Thank you uncle, but I cannot assent to stay unless Father and Robb agree to treat Sandor as family."

"Can't say I blame her," Arya shrugged. "You guys have been nicer to Gendry than the Hound."

Ned and Robb exchanged a terse look. "We will treat you both with more respect, Sansa, but we still must look into Sandor's statements about Stannis, Gendry and the Lannisters. It is nothing personal, it is the way of war but as a woman I do not expect you would understand."

"You speak truly. I am a woman grown, brother, though hardly ignorant to the way the game of thrones is played. If you could manage to overlook my being female, I would be able to offer much insight into the king and his mother's approach toward all manner of matters. Spending every day at court, I have unique insight pertaining to their strategies of war, as well that of Stannis Baratheon."

"We would welcome your help, Sansa," Ned smiled at her, taking her hand. "Won't we, son?"

"Yes, of course." Robb replied curtly.

Sandor wished he could slap him the way he once saw the Imp strike Joffrey. It would be better to leave, but he could see the little bird's resolve was wavering.

"What say you husband? Should we try staying here for a bit?"

Sansa looked up at him with such hope that he did not have the heart to tell her it was all just an act to appease her mother. Sandor had to hide a snort of derision; he gave no fucks what any of them thought about him and would sooner leave with Sansa than put up with her little shit of a brother. Still, Ned's words seemed to please his little wife and that was all that mattered to him. "Aye, we'll stay little bird."

"Goodbrother, would you agree to meet with Jaime Lannister?"

Taken aback to learn that the wolves managed to capture the kingslayer, Sandor glanced toward his wife, who seemed equally surprised. _Could be some kind of trick,_ he mused, _just to see my reaction_. Carefully he schooled his face into passive disinterest. "Of course. When?"

"Tomorrow morning."

_Folly, mere folly, you fool boy,_ thought Sandor; but the man merely nodded. _The lions will eat you alive if you don't wise up soon and your father won't be able to do a damn thing to stop them._

"May I inquire the reason you would have Sandor meet with Jaime Lannister?" Sansa asked quietly.

Sandor patted her leg so she would be still; he didn't want to listen to her family prattle on any longer;

Robb stubbornly folded his arms. "Sansa, I believe the kingslayer might offer a bit of useful information to his _nephew's_ former sworn shield in hopes of securing his release."

Snorting, Sandor casually ran the edge of his knife along the sole of his boot. "Unlikely, that."

"Will you not agree to your king's wishes?"

Observing Robb, young and brash with his chest puffed out made Sandor want to laugh right in the king's face. Leaning in close to the young wolf, he growled, "I thought it was the bastard in your family who everyone said knew nothing; looks like I heard wrong, boy."

"I am your king, and you will address me as such!"

"Certainly your Grace." Sandor snarled out low, his wicked grin twisting his scars in a most alarming manner.

"I must agree with my husband about the unlikeliness of Jaime's cooperation; he will confide nothing, brother," Sansa offered softly. "The Lannisters are nothing if not calculating in both speech and action. It is highly unlikely you will catch him in a misstep." Turning to her father, she probed further, "May I respectfully ask if this conversation between Sandor and Jaime Lannister will be used as a test of my husband's loyalty?"

_A clever little bird she is, sniffing out her brother's true motive._ Furious, Sandor snarled out, "So that's the way of it, is it?"

"No, Sansa, Sandor," Ned sighed heavily while Robb rolled his eyes. "Walder Frey unexpectedly agreed to accept your uncle Edmure as husband for one of his daughters in your brother's stead. We are merely wondering if Jaime Lannister may know of the reason behind the sudden cooperation."

A cold chill drifted over Sandor._ Walder Frey, bloody cowardly weasel. That bugger has mischief on the mind_. "Let me ask you this: did Lord Frey answer Ser Edmure's call to arms?"

"Well, he has tarried some. We had to negotiate marriages on behalf of the family to secure his support."

"Though his house is sworn to the Tullys," Sandor raised his brow. "Yes, Ser Edmure's nuptials were secured, but you said _family_. Who else is part of the deal?"

Ned wiped his face and muttered, "Arya."

"WHAT?" Arya jumped up out of her seat. "Robb, how could you? After what happened with Sansa? You married me off to some weasel Frey? I'll stick him with-"

Sansa gently rested her hand on her sister's shoulder. "Arya, I know you are upset, but please let me speak." When Arya reluctantly agreed, Sansa continued, "You need not send Sandor to speak to Jaime Lannister, brother. I can think of one reason Walder Frey would suddenly agree: it is because he is planning some retaliation against our family."

Scoffing, Robb started to turn away, but Sandor held his arm in an iron grip. "The girl speaks truly," Sandor spat out through gritted his teeth. "Get off your bloody laurels and listen to her, boy. I'll speak to Jaime tomorrow at first light."


	6. Chapter 6

"Wake up, little bird," Sandor's breath fell hot against Sansa's ear. He had tossed beneath her long before dawn, but it was so very snug under the furs that Sansa resisted awakening as long as she could. Sandor's strong arms wrapped protectively around her middle, cradling her against his chest. "Come. I want you beside me today. Dress."

_Why would he need her with him?_ Sansa doubted her father would want her in the bleak dungeons of Riverrun. Sleep called to her; it had been two moons since she had slept in a proper bed, and she did not want to leave it for some drafty dungeon. "No, too comfortable." She burrowed back into his body and grudgingly opened her eyes. The room was still dark.

"What time is it?"

"An hour before sunup, I'd wager.

"Oh love, it is so comfortable here. Can we not stay a bit longer?"

Sandor's rough fingertips traced circles over her shoulder. "Little bird," he rasped a bit louder. "There's nothing I'd like better than to spend the entire day in bed with you, but I needs you to come with me, lass. I have a suspicion that you are right as to what the Freys are about. I believe Jaime will agree, too."

Sansa's eyes snapped open at Sandor's admitting he thought the same as she did on the matter. "Those wicked Freys! What sort of retaliation do you suppose they will plan? Tell me, Sandor, please."

Sansa could feel the tension in her husband, his mood darkening as she awaited his response.

Groaning, Sandor rolled away from her. "No. Do as I say and get up now." Irritation tinged his words, so without further questioning, Sansa readily arose and laid out his new clothing.

Knowing how he enjoyed the sight of her nude body, Sansa remained undressed. It made her feel wanton and wicked but the simple fact was that her husband talked more when he could stare at her openly. Casually Sansa tried again to get Sandor to share his thoughts as she tied the lacings on his tunic. "Please, won't you tell me?"

"Thought you'd distract me, did you?" Sandor laughed wickedly, capturing her lips in a heated kiss. "That all you had to do was prance around naked and I'd tell you everything?"

When Sansa pouted, he tweaked her chin. Sandor looked amused, not angry, and so Sansa laughed outright. "No of course not. I just thought you might answer me with a little persuasion."

"You've already got me as riled as a greenboy, woman, no matter how many times I fuck you. And as much as I would like to play along, there's no time for it now."

"Sandor, be serious for a moment. I want to know what you think."

"No, now I need you to stop this at once. There's no sense working yourself up until we speak with the lion when it will only upset you further."

"Alright. But you know I can bear it, Sandor, whatever it may be."

Sandor stopped her. "Aye, I do at that. Jaime won't tell me truly with Ned and your brother breathing down his neck, you best believe. I need your help."

"You will always have it, you know that."

"I do." He stared levelly into Sansa's eyes.

Pride swelled her heart. "I hope they have not gone too roughly on him, Sandor. It is not our way."

"Bloody unlikely, that." He settled his hands around her waist, rubbing circles just above her hips soothingly. "Kings are kings, northerners or not, they don't go lightly on the enemy."

"Yes, I know." Sansa worried her lip. "I'll do my best to smooth the way for you, husband."

"A smart little bird you are, lass." Sandor brushed his lips against her neck. "Now dress before I take you again."

* * *

Ned and Robb stood with their arms crossed, frowning solemnly as Sandor and Sansa approached the cell. The mirroring expressions of the men drawing a sharp laugh from Sandor in spite of the palpable tension in the air. "Goodfather; my king," he rasped as Sansa put her arms around Ned.

"What is she doing here?" Robb demanded. "Explain yourself."

"What do you think, boy? I asked her to come. I told you yesterday that your sister learned to chirp in the den of the lions. You need her. You would see that if you ever got your head out of your-"

"Robb," Sansa interrupted. "Please let me help you."

Ned took Sansa by the hand. "Such is not the place for you, child."

"I know you wish to spare me such unpleasantness, Father, but I am no longer a child," Sansa answered softly, "though I know you wish I was. The Lannisters robbed me of my innocent ways. Time spent with them has given me insight. Let me help you both."

"No. It isn't proper for the sister of the king to speak to the traitor on the Iron throne's _uncle_."

Sansa smoothed her skirts primly. "Jaime Lannister is Joffrey's father and you know it, brother. Please stop this at once. To continue this pretense in front of my husband is insulting. Sandor has known the truth about Joffrey since he was a babe."

Both Ned and Robb sharply turned to him. "And yet you said nothing?"

"Not my place to question kings and queens," Sandor muttered low. "How do you think I managed to keep my ugly head on my shoulders? By asking fool questions of my betters?"

"Father, brother, Sandor is not the person who first told me such." Sansa returned to her husband's side.

"How did you come to hear it, lass?" Ned squeezed her hand. "I would have thought the Lannisters would have taken the heads of anyone who dared mention it."

"It is the worst kept secret in King's Landing, Father. The whole court speaks behind the backs of the queen regent and king alike, for all of their threats and punishments. Ser Barristan admitted it to me in private after Joffrey relieved him of his position in the Kingsguard."

"Ser Barristan is no longer in service to Joffrey?"

"No, and I do not know what happened to him."

"Stannis knows it too, which is why he feels justified in his claim to the Iron throne," Sandor offered. "I overheard the Imp say so to the Spider. That is why Joffrey has dealt so harshly with his subjects, to prevent them from rising against him and joining Stannis."

Ned shook his head. "You both were lucky to get out before the battle."

"Luck had nothing to do with it." Sandor growled low. "Planning, aye." Turning to Robb, he snarled loudly, "You were not coming for Sansa, that was for bloody sure, so I took the first chance I got to get her out."

Robb opened his mouth to protest but was soon interrupted by his father. "And you brought her to us, for which her mother and I are most grateful, as is my son."

"That was Sansa's wish." Sandor shrugged. "I would take her anywhere she wishes to go, believe that."

Turning to Robb, Sansa frowned, her cheeks flushing indignantly. "You did not think it wrong to leave me in the company of Joffrey himself. You did not think it improper for me to be around the queen regent, his very own sister, for that matter. Why does this upset you so, brother?"

"A better question I couldn't have asked myself." Sandor added, placing his hand protectively on the small of Sansa's back. "But kings aren't like to answer the questions of those beneath them, isn't that so?"

"No, and why should I?" Robb bristled angrily. "You are my guest here. It is not for me to-"

"Stop this, all of you," Ned raised his voice. "We need to be united in this endeavor if we are to succeed. Robb, we must find out if Sandor and Sansa's theory about the Freys is valid. Perhaps Jaime will be more likely to cooperate if you and I do not go in. We can listen from outside."

Sandor snorted but said nothing.

"You all can come in now," Jaime's mocking voice echoed from inside the shale cell. "Please, don't leave me out of this loving family moment any longer, I beg."

Ned gestured to the sentry, who unlocked the door and stepped aside, admitting them.

Robb furiously turned away. "If either of them tries anything, kill them."

Sansa started to reply but Ned shook his head and led her inside behind Sandor.

"Sandor Clegane as I live and breathe." Jaime grinned wickedly. "You're looking well."

"Lannister," Sandor gruffly nodded. "You look like shit."

Jaime threw his head back and laughed. "I am certain I smell like it, too. You must forgive, my lady."

Shaking her head, Sansa sighed heavily.

"So you stole my son's former betrothed, I see and decided to keep her for yourself. Well done, Clegane." Jaime dipped his head toward Sansa. "A far better match for you, my lady. I stood by and watched one king abuse his wife; I did not relish the thought of doing so again." His voice was resigned and devoid of emotion.

"Thank you for saying so, Ser Jaime." Sansa answered coolly, the young woman at a loss for words as she took in the former golden knight's ragged appearance and changed demeanor.

"Such a polite daughter you have, Stark." He looked over Sansa carefully as Sandor sat down in front of him. "Such a quality served you well in the Red Keep, too, no doubt.

"Indeed it did, Ser Jaime."

"Cut the small talk, lion. We needs ask you a few questions."

"Oh, and here I thought you'd come to chat about the old days."

Sandor barked out a harsh laugh. "Always the smart ass, even in the worst of times."

Jaime grinned. "Just like you, Sandor."

"Aye, true enough, that."

Alarmed, Sansa knelt down beside him and drew out her handkerchief. "Ser Jaime, forgive me, but you look as though you have not been fed. Father, is it so?"

Ned's mouth twisted slightly. "He killed Torrhen Karstark in an attempt to escape. Your Uncle Edmure is rationing his food as punishment."

Sighing, Sansa turned away from Jaime. "Father, please, is there no way we can have a meal brought to him? Such is not our way, to deny prisoners food. I fear it will anger the old gods." She met her father's gaze and slightly inclined her head.

Raising his brow, Ned slowly assented. "Yes child, you speak truly. I'll have it brought at once."

After Ned left, Sansa poured Jaime a cup of water. "Forgive them, Ser Jaime. The Tullys do not worship our gods."

After draining the cup, Jaime eyed Sansa warily."And what do you expect in return, my lady?"

Sandor spoke up. "Heard about old Walder's sudden agreement to wed the Tully's to the Freys, have you?"

Jaime nodded.

"What do you think they are up to?"

"I think there are traitors among the Stark host."

Gasping, Sansa drew closer. "Who?"

Jaime shrugged. "Could be any of a number of men looking to claw their way closer to the Iron throne."

Scowling, Sandor brought his face mere inches from Jaime. "Give me a name, lion."

"And what will _you_ give me in return?"

"A way out of here, might be. A clean death."

Sansa glanced between the men anxiously. "You crippled my brother. Your son had me stripped naked and beaten in open court. Please, if you have ever felt a moment's remorse, tell us the name."

"I don't have a name," Jaime replied. "And remorse is not our way. But if I had to wager a guess, I would name Roose Bolton."

Sansa sputtered in disbelief, but steadfastly held her tongue when she noticed Sandor nod his head eagerly. "Aye, then we are of the same mind."

"But why?"

"He stands to gain the most, wife."

"Yes," she replied weakly. "I suppose he does." After several moments, Sansa took Jaime by the hand. "You shall be given a bath, food and a better place here, Ser Jaime. You have my word."

His green eyes glittered with amusement. "I believe if it was within your power, you would give me all of those things, Lady Sansa; however, your kin are of another mind entirely."

Before Sansa could answer, Ned soon returned with a servant in tow carrying two large plates of food and a flask of wine.

Sansa quickly set it before Jaime and rose. "We are finished, Father. Please, would you escort me back to our rooms? I am feeling rather weak and tired."

"Of course, daughter." Ned glanced between her and Sandor and then drew Sansa's arm through his. "I'll return shortly."


End file.
